


entirely.

by likeabomb



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Temporary Character Death, Trans Male Character, lich!Jason, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 12:43:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16408739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeabomb/pseuds/likeabomb
Summary: an old soul and a lich, intrinsically tied and getting by.





	entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> day 1 of Slade/Robin week on tumblr. my works will focus on Slade and Jason.  
> this is day 1, "Deal with the Devil".

Warmth blooms across his chest, reassurance, fluttering and then fleeting just as quickly as the sensation came. Goosebumps prickle down his arms and he steps out of the car, shutting the door behind him. He’s not doing much to make sure he goes unheard. His target won’t flee, he’s not the type. Pulling the longsword from the back seat, he pulls the strap around his shoulder and double checks the gun at his hip and the small blade at the small of his back, just in case. There hardly a chance of it coming to that, but if he needs to, it’s there.

Shutting the second door, Slade takes the four steps up to the double doors into the factory, pushing them open and leaving them open behind him as he walks through the dark room. The windows are grungy, not letting in much light from the moon hanging overhead or the flickering street lights outside, but he doesn’t need it. His eye shines- glows dimly- in the dark as he scans the defunct machines and belts, then higher along the catwalk.

He’s sitting in the dark on the catwalk on the railing with a cigarette between his lips. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he gives Slade a little mocking salute, a grin on his face- what could be considered a face- and calls down to him, “Evening, Wilson.”

Slade rolls his shoulder, waiting for him to take his sweet time to get down here so he can get on with this already.

“What?” He calls, voice feigning hurt, “No friendly pre-murder banter?”

“No. I have things to do.”

The catwalk creeks as boots land on the metal and he wanders the length of it so he can get a better look at Slade in the dark, “More important than this?”   
  
He takes another drag and flicks the ash, smoke escaping through his teeth. Slade stares up at him, disinterest clear across his face. He’s not underestimating his target, far from it, but he really does have more important things to be doing tonight. 

The cherry of the smoke illuminates his face a little more and Slade gets a good look at him. He’s seen him before, but it’s always interesting to see a lich like Red Hood. A bare skull, red like blood, no lips, no hair, just bare teeth and fangs, and hollow eyes that light with a fire, flickering and hungry when he’s excited. And by the look of it, despite his tone, Red’s excited.

The warmth echoes through his chest again and his sword is unsheathed and ready when Red Hood drops from the rafters with his own blade. He deflects it easily, but then there’s no banter, there’s no quips. It’s just the scathing sound of metal on metal and the thump of boots and fists.

There’s a crunch when Slade decks Red in the jaw, and there’s a squelch when Red jams his kris blade into Slade’s leg. They’re more evenly matched than Slade thought, and he wonders if maybe he did underestimate his target, just a little.   
  
He wipes blood off his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing it up his glove. Red is missing a couple of teeth, a chip out of his cheekbone, and the fire in his eyes is just that, a fire, and Slade knows, because it’s licking its way out of the empty sockets as he breathes hard. Even with no muscles, no tongue, no substance to his face, he still manages to look like he’s grinning.

Slade licks the last of the blood from his gums before he spits, turning to look at Red again. He draws his sword and they go at it again, the sounds echoing in the alleys around the factory. The deep puncture in his thigh gives him pause if he turns wrong, and Slade realizes there had to have been something on the blade. Dirty. He likes that.

When the fight starts to look like it’s not as in his corner as he had first assumed, he reaches for his gun, and when he has a hand on it, the cold muzzle of the gun is pressed to his forehead. With a snarl on his lips, he stares at him, and that fire in his eyes is more subdued, still hot, but contained.   
  
“You know it’s not going to stop me,” Slade says quietly.   
  
“And you know it won’t stop me either,” Red’s fire shifts as he looks down at the gun Slade has pressed to his gut, “But we keep doing this, don’t we?”   
  
“You’re not such a bad dance partner, you know.” Quips are a treat from a gruff man like him, and the comment makes Red laugh, the fire flickering.

Three rounds echo and then the world is silent. Red holsters his gun as Slade’s body crumples, the soft glow of his eye dimming to nothing. Even with his brain and skull spattered all over the pavement, it’ll probably only be a couple of hours before he’ll be back on the hunt. It almost seems like he never rests.   
  
Picking up his kris blade, Red wipes it down with a slip before holstering that too, giving Slade’s lifeless body one more once over before he leaves. He’ll see him in a few hours, he’s sure, better to put as much ground in between them as he can.

 

He makes sure to slash two of his tires first, though.

 

* * *

 

The beep of the lock has Jason looking up from his book, a dogeared copy of Frankenstein, and when the door opens, he closes it around his finger to keep his place, a small smirk on his lips.

Slade drops his bag on the end of the bed, rolling his shoulder, “You’re a brat, you know that?”   
  
Jason laughs, setting the book aside before swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Stepping around the end, he crosses his arms loosely over his chest, looking Slade up and down. “I’ve been told a time or two, yeah.”   
  
“You played dirty,” Slade accuses, shaking his head a little.

Jason ducks his head to hide most of his grin, the cheeky bastard. When he looks up, it’s clear in the knit of his brows and the twitch at the corner of his lips he’s trying so hard not to laugh, his tone insisting his innocence, “I didn’t. I won fair and square.”   
  
Rolling his eye, Slade shakes his head, “What was it?”   
  
“My own special blend, trade secret,” Jason smiles, and the fire in his eyes is invigorating.   
  
Slade reaches up to cup the curve of his jaw, thumb running over the jagged scar across his cheekbone, still healing over it seems. He tilts his face into Slade’s hand a little, eyes flicking over the three puckered bullet scars on his forehead. They just look at one another for a moment before Slade pats his cheek a few times hard enough to make soft little slaps.   
  
“Definitely a brat.”   
  
He turns to move away and Jason catches him by the front of his jacket and pulls him back, “Where do you think you’re going?”   
  
Quirking a brow, lips pursed to try to hide his own smirk, “I was going to shower. That factory floor was disgusting.”   
  
“Mm,” Jason hums, pulling a little more before he reaches to card fingers through his white locks, leaning in to breathe his air, ghost words over his lips, “Later. I won.”   
  
Easing a little, Slade’s hands settle on Jason’s hips and he breathes the same warm and mischievous words against his mouth too, “You did.”   
  
It’s husky and the spark between them is unmistakable as they talk, secrets just for the two of them. Jason’s fists close in Slade’s hair and he doesn’t flinch, not even when Jason tugs his head back to be able to tuck his face into his throat. A few kisses, soft and sweet, a gentle suckle, teasing more than anything, and then there’s fangs in the soft meat of his neck and Slade exhales a soft groan.   
  
This is a game they play, a dance they swing, and they have been for such a long time now. Jason is a lich, a dead man who was reanimated and brought back to deal with unfinished business. Unfinished business has since turned into everything and anything he feels like making his business. Soulless and powerful, he’s a bit of a menace with his ever shifting wants and needs. Sometimes punishing criminals, sometimes torturing demons, he’s fleeting and always hungry.

And Slade himself is an old soul, something he still has despite the odds, even if it is tattered and dirty, a ragged old thing like himself now. He’s just a man. A man who’s made a few too many poor decisions. Stronger, fast, sharp as a blade- and he doesn’t stay dead. Fairly, neither does Jason, but Slade is just a man.   
  
And this is just what they do, what they have fun with. They travel, a wealth beyond worry, and they hunt. Sometimes demons, sometimes humans, sometimes each other. Sometimes it’s iHop at two in the morning, and sometimes it’s a nightclub downtown. Sometimes it’s some slick businessman’s penthouse, and sometimes it’s the smell of salt and dead fish at the docks.

They’re always looking, always watching, and always learning. About the world and all its inhabitants, the structure of people of all shapes in the cities and the power dynamics of the wars, low and roiling. But more so than that, they learn about each other. They have been together for so long and still find things to learn, new and exciting.

But recently, they’ve been more business than fun.

“Did your lead turn anything up?” Slade asks, Jason still mouthing at his throat.   
  
He draws back enough to tsk a soft sound, then pulls back, a clear sign of annoyance across his features, “No.”   
  
Slade sighs, hands still on his hips so he can’t snake away. He closes his eye and sets his forehead against Jason’s temple and Jason stays still for him.   
  
Softly, “Hey.”   
  
Opening his eye to look at his partner again, Jason reaches to cup his cheek in a gesture echoing Slade’s, “Listen to me. We’ll find something. We’ll find a way. A way that isn’t this.”   
  
When he says ‘this’, the muscle of his cheek peels back, deteriorating til it’s the bare crimson skull underneath, inching up and along his face and down over his jaw as he talks more, “Something that isn’t this, I promise.”   
  
Slade’s jaw sets tight under Jason’s hand and his brows knit. Jason pats his cheek with the soft slap like he’d done before and it does make a little smile tug at his scarred lips.   
  
“We’ll dig up another lead. We always do. And we get closer every time. We’ll figure out a way, Slade. But you’re not getting out of it with that sad face.”   
  
A huff of a laugh as Slade tilts his face to kiss the meat of Jason’s palm, “Who says the sad face is trying to get out of it?”   
  
“Because I feel bad when you get all sad and shit.” Jason deadpans.   
  
Another soft laugh, and then Slade digs his teeth into Jason’s hand. It’s not had enough to puncture, a quick turn of his head and flash of teeth. He has less fangs than his partner, but he still has enough that he’ll feel it. He grins a little and Jason shows his own teeth in a playful snarl as the muscle and skin grows back down over the barren chunk of his skull.

“Who’s the brat now?”   
  
“Still you. Insisting we get around to fucking when I’m being melancholic about my dead kid.” There’s a smirk painted along Slade’s face even if the soft longing look of loss doesn’t quite leave his eye.   
  
“Alright!” Jason barks, and he has a smile to match, “You make me sound like a dickhead!”   
  
“And?”   
  
Jason growls a little, pushing Slade back onto the bed and immediately goes for the throat on the other side. The marks will be gone by morning, but for the time being, they’re going to be nice to look at, and even nicer to dig his fingers into. Slade is more than happy to let Jason mark him up, the he can pinpoint both sets of fangs where Jason’s teeth dig in, the pinch of sensitive skin and occasionally the give of a puncture. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a masochist, but they both would be, and in turn, the same of their sadism. Maybe it was something that came with being alive so long. Maybe it was something more akin to the fact they just couldn’t die- unaccustomed to the fear of such vulnerabilities as being a threat- they throw themselves into danger, against their enemies and against each other, here and at the end of each other’s blades.

Slade wraps his legs around Jason and flips them over, pushing him back down into the covers with one hand pinned against the headboard. Jason smiles up at him and Slade leans in for a proper kiss instead of the marks up and down his throat. It’s hot and slick with too much tongue, but that’s how they both like it. Slade is the one to get bitey first though and the taste of Jason’s blood is as sweet as ever. He licks it off his own lip, letting it smear across Jason’s chin as he pulls back a little and as he does, Jason pushes that momentum, pushing him back far enough his head is half off the bed as he grips tight so they don’t go sprawling onto the floor.

  
Jason cards both hands through Slade’s hair again, pulling him in for another sloppy kiss before he drags his hand down his outer thigh, pulling his legs so he can rut his hips against Slade’s inner thigh. They breathe hard against each other, like two desperate young lovers- they’re _not_ , but god do they fuck like it.   
  
Deft fingers unbutton Slade’s pants, easing the zipper down, and his hand slips into the front of his pants, along the outside of his underwear, fingers tucked down along the warmth of his cunt and Slade exhales a soft sound at the feeling. Jason drags fingers along his damp slit through his underwear, the material soft, but still rubbing the fabric against his engorged clit. Jason’s fingers catch that too and it stiffens just a little more with his ministrations.   
  
With his pants on, Slade has too much trouble spreading his legs, and with one hooked over his hips and the other settled between his legs, he’s not getting anywhere fast anyway. Jason ruts against his thigh a little more and Slade can feel the girth of him.   
  
“You gonna tease all night, Todd?”   
  
“I won, you’re mine, _Wilson_ ,” Jason husks gently, leaning over him, “I could edge you for hours and then leave you gasping for me, unsatisfied.” He grabs his face, digging fingers into the meat of his cheeks, “Maybe just fuck your face and come down your throat. How’s that sound?”   
  
Slade shows his own teeth, even with the way Jason holds his face, and the defiant look in his eye is enough to make Jason chuckle and soften his grip and lean in to kiss him soft and tender again. They might be violent creatures, they might snarl and bite and kill each other, but they love each other. It’s not something simple, it never has been, but with each passing day it becomes that much more intricate.   
  
Tugging at his pants, Jason tugs them down off Slade’s ass, then off his legs with a little work and moving. Then his underwear, and just like the first time, he revels in the look of his short white pubes, the shine of the piercing just above his clit, and just how pink he gets when he’s hot. He presses fingers first, smearing Slade’s own fluids along his lips, up and around his clit, then back down again til he can slip two fingers in and do it again. Pulling fingers out, he licks them clean, tugging his own pants and underwear down.   
  
He shifts back a little on the bed, pulling Slade with him before he works his own cock to a full erection. But he doesn’t just go at it, Slade knows him too well now to know he likes to savor a victory.   
  
Pulling the old man’s legs up, hooks them over his shoulders, and with one arm wrapped around a thigh to support the position, rubs a thumb against his clit, breathing hard against his warm pussy. The other hand traces down Slade’s chest, pushing his shirt up and the pendant that settles heavy against his chest away gently so he can feel all the muscles of his stomach, his pecs, his nipples, anywhere he can reach.    
  
The sigil branded over Slade’s heart, a fiery gold, shimmers to life as Jason touches him, pulsing in time to his heart, fluttering excitedly in his chest. His fingertips brush it, lingering just a moment to trace the outermost circle of the delicate contract etched into Slade’s flesh. Jason leaves it be, though, and fingers close on a nipple to tug on it a little as he buries his face into Slade’s cunt, going right for the gold as he tongue fucks him.   
  
Jason knows exactly what he’s doing in rendering Slade absolutely useless, and really, Slade knows how to do the same with Jason when he wins their matches. But right now, Jason won, so he’s enjoying the fruits of his labors. He has Slade’s slick and his own saliva dripping down his chin, but he also has Slade’s hands tugging at the blankets, or at his own hands, hips rolling up to meet Jason’s hunger. Such ravenous beasts.   
  
When Slade starts to breathe a little harder, the beat of his heart a little faster under Jason’s hand, he comes up for air. Pupils wide, he pants hard and licks his lips clean. There’s still the shine of fluids on his chin when he eases Slade’s legs off his shoulders, pulling them around his hips instead. He leans in, and god, even after the thousandth time, tasting himself on Jason’s tongue sends a heat to Slade’s gut that little else does.   
  
Reaching between them, Jason strokes himself a few more times before he shifts his hips and holds the base of his cock as he traces the ruddy head along Slade’s slick lips, bouncing it gently against his clit to make them both shudder with want. They kiss hard, and there’s less teeth now, but still an underlying hunger that’s never quite sated, never quite satisfied.

Slade’s growls his own frustrated sound and Jason huffs a laugh against his mouth. The old man won’t push, won’t move things along, because Jason won. It was a good fight and he won, and the next time Slade wins, it’ll be the same with the tables turned. But if he could just fuck him already, that’d be nice.   
  
Gripping his dick, he presses the fat head against his folds, loosened up and slick from his own taste, and he sinks in slowly, savoring the way Slade’s thighs tighten, his knees at Jason’s ribs, and how his grip tightens and he stops breathing to savor it just as much. Even after all this time, it feels new, exciting, invigorating.

Grinding his hips hard when he’s flush hip to hip with his lover, his partner, his greatest foil, Jason feels at home. In all the places they see, in all the beds they sleep, Slade in his entirety is his home. The way he feels around him, be it like this, or his arms in bed at night, or the ghost of a feeling too far away when Slade carries his corpse. They are drawn back to each other at every turn, winding and twisting and weaving. They belong to each other entirely. 

Jason fucks into him, holding him down so he’ll stop arching into it, keeping a hold on his thigh to make sure he keeps them tight around him. He fucks into him hard and deep, a slowly building pace til he’s rocking the whole bed, the headboard behind them thudding against the wall. The slick squelch of his cock in Slade’s tight pussy and their mingled breathless moans and the sound of his sack against Slade’s ass.   
  
His thumb finds his clit again and rubs it in time to his quick and heavy pace and Slade arches and swears, “Fuck, fuck- _Jason_ , christ-” But the heavy hand keeps him pinned to the bed where he fucks him senseless. And it really is senseless. The world falls away for both of them as it often does. Nothing is more important than this. A smile graces Jason’s lips and he grinds hard, barely moving as he leans over Slade again, running both hands all over his sweaty, gritty skin.   
  
“Was this the more important thing you needed to get to, babe?”   
  
Slade hisses through his teeth as Jason rolls his clit between his fingers, clenching tight and fluttering. When he gains enough self, his blue eye is sharp, teeth bared, “You’re s- _ah_ \- such a little shi-”   
  
He’s gut of with another punched out groan, fingers pulling at the covers as Jason goes back to fucking him in earnest. Slade loves this, really. Their back and forth, their ups and downs. Having a partner so willing to give and take, to stand with him on equal ground. It’s all more than he’d ever really thought he’d get. And yet, here it is, and here it will stay.

Jason leans over him, pushing him over on himself a little with hands at the bends of Slade’s knees, thigh muscled thighs and the crunch of his abs and the sheen of sweat on both their skin, Slade pants under him, watching him unravel, and Jason does the same, chest heaving.   
  
When he starts to feel that coil in the pit of his stomach tighten with the coming orgasm, Jason works Slade into it more, changing his angle a little and rubbing his clit along with his thrusts, erratic as they’re coming. He holds his leg close, tight, and Jason snaps first under the pressure, coming hard, and the feeling of warmth spreading through him is what does Slade in too, milking Jason for all he’s got.   
  
Fucking his cum into Slade with a few hard thrusts, Jason’s grip loosens, lightens, and pangs of aftershocks echo through Slade’s pussy as he works to catch his breath. Easing down, the two of them settle slowly, carefully, silently reveling in the feeling of skin against skin. When he does finally pull out, it’s with a little gush of cum that he can’t help but give a weak exhale of a laugh at.   
  
They move and shift and settle into the bed with a final collapse, Jason with his arm draped over Slade’s chest, his face buried in the nice cool pillow. They’re both naked and still sticky, but they’ll shower after some sleep.   
  
Slade cards fingers through Jason’s dark hair, shaking loose some of the strands damp with sweat.Jason rolls his eyes, a fond smile across his lips. His other hand scoops up the pendant still hanging around his neck, tilting it a little to look at it. Jason props his head up on his hand, the arm draped over his side shifts to trace the lines of his muscles, the scars along his chest, down along his belly. It’s absent minded and far off, but feels nice.   
  
“How is he?” Jason asks gently, eyes watching the glistening in the vial.   
  
“He was rooting for me to win our match,” Slade answers, voice soft and edged with that longing and melancholy.   
  
Jason reaches slowly, tracing the back of a finger down the length of the little vial. He tucks his face closer to Slade’s chest and the warm light the contract marked into his skin gives.   
  
Slade’s hand closes around it, and the glittering sheen of the contents is engulfed entirely. Holding it to his chest, he heaves a sigh of finality for the night before letting the vial go limp against his chest. It doesn’t even leave it’s space around his neck when he showers. Jason’s arm wraps around him, eyes closing, cheek against his shoulder. Slade’s fingers sink into his hair again.   
  
It’s quiet for a few long moments, the afterglow such a warm and pleasant haze over both of them, and then Slade snorts. Jason peeks an eye at him, brows knit in annoyance, he’d nearly dozed off. Slade’s one eye trains on him, a smirk tugging at his lips.   
  
“You’re buying new tires.”


End file.
